Potential
by Tesekian
Summary: Pippin mysteriously disappears five years after Bilbo's party, and the consequences affect him long afterwards. Please read and review.
1. Voices in the dark

Pippin's head hurt. He tried to lift a hand to feel for bruises, but found he couldn't move it. He opened his eyes and looked into the blackness that surrounded him. He was lying on something hard, restraints holding down his wrists and ankles. He tried to push himself onto his elbows, but there was something hard above his neck, and he couldn't push against it without strangling himself.  
  
Panic began to overwhelm him as he lay there in the darkness, unable to see anything, unable to move. How had this happened?  
  
He thought back to the last thing he remembered. He and Merry had gone to stay with Frodo at Bag End for a few days. He hadn't been able to sleep, and thought that a walk might tire him out enough for him to rest. He'd gone out, and began to walk in the countryside near Bag End. He hadn't been to Hobbiton enough times to know the land around it very well, and had gotten confused about the direction trying to find his way back.  
  
That was when he'd seen them. Two figures, taller than hobbits, shrouded in black cloaks, talking quietly. He had been instantly afraid, and tried to back away, but his foot on a twig had alerted them to his presence. The last thing he could remember was them turning towards him. Where was he? What did they want with him?  
  
***  
  
Frodo woke up early and went to prepare breakfast for his guests. He liked having Merry and Pippin around. They were cheerful hobbits, who didn't avoid him like several other did because of his disappearing uncle. It was coming up to their shared birthday again, and talk in the Shire always turned to Bilbo's party at this time of year, even though it was now five years ago.  
  
Finally, everything was ready for breakfast, it did take a long time to prepare a hobbit's breakfast, and Frodo went to wake Merry and Pippin. Merry was already getting dressed, but Pippin was nowhere to be seen. He wasn't in his room, so Frodo began to worry.  
  
"He'll be back soon enough," Merry said, buttering some toast, "he won't want to miss breakfast." Frodo agreed and settled down to enjoy the meal, though when Pippin hadn't appeared by the end his worry was growing. Even Merry was worried by this point.  
  
"What if something's happened to him," he said, his voice filled with concern for his friend.  
  
"We'd better look for him," Frodo agreed. So they took their cloaks and set out, but they couldn't find any sign of Pippin. And no one they asked had seen him since he arrived with Merry the day before. It was as if he had disappeared completely.  
  
***  
  
Pippin didn't realise he'd fallen asleep until a bright light shocked him awake. Blinded, he struggled to make out dark figures between himself and the light that seemed to come from everywhere at once.  
  
"Who are you?" he asked, afraid, his voice trembling. His eyes began to adjust to the light, but the figures still remained dark silhouettes, featureless and menacing. "What do you want with me?"  
  
"How much did you see, hobbit?" a voice asked sharply. A voice filled with menace that sent a shiver of fear down Pippin's spine.  
  
"Nothing," he protested, "I saw two dark figures and that's all."  
  
"He's lying," another voice said, this time a female.  
  
"What makes you so sure?" It might have been the first voice who spoke, or perhaps another. Pippin couldn't be sure.  
  
"He's terrified," the woman replied, "Perregrin Took would not be afraid of dark figures." But Pippin was afraid. Afraid of these people and what they might do to him. He was afraid of how they knew who he was.  
  
"What did you see?"  
  
"I've told you," Pippin said, "Please, I haven't done anything wrong." He tried to hold back the sobs he knew were coming, but the desperation of the situation had sunk in. He could do nothing to escape these people  
  
"Tell us what you saw and we won't harm you," someone said. A new voice.  
  
"All I saw were two dark figures," Pippin repeated, and he did sob. "Please don't hurt me," he begged.  
  
"We want the truth."  
  
"That is the truth."  
  
"I don't think he's lying," it was the first voice that spoke again, one stern and menacing. The voice of someone used to be obeyed. Then one of the dark figures bent down close to Pippin, and he had a glimpse of a man's face, as he breathed, "Sleep," in Pippin's ear. Pippin was asleep instantly.  
  
***  
  
It had been three days since Pippin's disappearance. Merry and Frodo had searched all the land around Hobbiton with the help of Sam Gamgee, but they'd found nothing. Neither of them knew what they should do next, where they should look. Frodo was afraid that they would never see Pippin again, but tried to keep it buried beneath the determination to keep searching. They wouldn't give up on Pippin.  
  
So it was that they were out on the road the next day, when a cart trundled up the road towards Bag End, bearing a figure in a pointed hat.  
  
"Gandalf!" Frodo cried with delight and relief. Frodo and Merry began to tell their story together, their voices confused and confusing.  
  
"I cannot hear if you both speak together," he said, "Frodo, tell me what has happened." Frodo explained. Gandalf listened intently, questioning them on certain details. There wasn't really much to say, since neither hobbit knew what had happened.  
  
"Stay in Bag End," Gandalf commanded, taking the horse from the cart and saddling him for riding.  
  
"Where are you going?" Frodo asked.  
  
"To find someone who may be able to help." He rode off, and the three hobbits returned to Bag End to wait and worry.  
  
It was after sunset when he returned, bringing with him a man. The man was dark-haired and grey-eyed, with a keen look on his face. Gandalf introduced him as Strider, saying, "He will find Pippin, if he is to be found." There was something strange about this Strider that made Frodo unsure about trusting him, but Gandalf said he was a friend, and Frodo was desperate now to find Pippin. He told his tale to Strider, who then asked in detail about where they had searched and what they had looked for. He asked where Pippin liked going, and where they thought he might have gone to. Then he inquired about what clothes Pippin was wearing and what he might have been carrying. It was late by the time he had finished asking, and Frodo felt they were still no closer to finding Pip.  
  
***  
  
Pippin woke again in darkness to hear the voices talking quietly.  
  
"Things have begun to change too rapidly," one was saying. A sudden image appeared in the darkness, of a man bending close to the ground looking at footprints. The image was clearly visible, but there was still no light shining on it. Everything else remained in complete blackness.  
  
"Aragorn," a woman's voice said, "He should not have come, events are altering."  
  
"We must not change them back," another voice replied, the stern, menacing voice from earlier.  
  
"Nor can we return him now, after he has seen all he has seen." Pippin guessed they were talking about him.  
  
"I've seen nothing," he said suddenly, hoping against hope that they would have pity on him.  
  
"And still that is too much," the stern voice said.  
  
"Who are you?" Pippin asked.  
  
"You would not know my name, and you would be better not knowing it when you hear of me from another," the stern voice said. That wasn't what Pippin had meant, but his fear was growing again. Who was this man who didn't wish to be known? His name was obviously known for some terrible deed.  
  
"Please let me go," Pippin begged. In the pause that followed Pippin felt certain some hand would strike him. He was more afraid of their silence than their voices.  
  
"We will let you go on one condition," the voice said. Pippin didn't doubt that the condition would be one he would hate to meet. "Give us your word that you will speak of this to no one. All you have seen, heard and felt since your coming here will remain in your memory and be revealed to none." Pippin almost said 'yes' the moment the voice had fallen silent. But then he thought of Frodo and Merry. Whatever these people were planning must have evil intentions, or they would not demand his silence. They had been in the Shire, which meant the Shire might be in some danger. By remaining silent, he would help them achieve their goals. He couldn't do that.  
  
"No!" The silence that followed seemed to be swallowing him. But he knew he had surprised them, and that gave him some small pleasure. "I will not stand silently and let you do whatever you intend to do." He trembled in his restraints, knowing that if they did not release him, he would remain in this dark prison forever, waiting for the blow that would surely come at any moment.  
  
Suddenly there was a laugh. It was unexpected, but did not sound cruel. It seemed almost cheerful in this terrifying prison.  
  
"Now we see the courage of the Ernil i Pheriannath," the voice said, no longer stern. Pippin didn't know what the last words had meant, but felt complimented in a strange way. "You place us in a difficult position, Peregrin," the voice continued, "we cannot keep you here, and we cannot return you if you will speak of these events."  
  
"Then you will have to kill me."  
  
"You would die rather than swear an oath?"  
  
"If you're planning on hurting my friends, of course I'd rather die!" He wasn't sure what made him say it, but he knew it was the truth. He wouldn't hurt his friends, and if death was the only other option he would have to take it.  
  
"You will need that courage," the voice said. "Very well." And suddenly Pippin slept again. 


	2. Back in Bag End

When he awoke, he was in one of the spare rooms at Bag End. The one Frodo had given him for this stay. His first feeling of joy at his return became one of confusion. How had he got here? Had it just been a dream? It hadn't felt like a dream at the time, yet here he was, safely back in the Shire without giving his oath of silence.  
  
He pulled himself out of bed, and looked around. Morning sunlight poured through the open windows, but it was already nearing midday. He went to the door to see where Frodo and Merry were. Still unsure and nervous after his ordeal, he moved down the hall. He tensed as he heard voices, but moving closer he recognised the familiar tones of Gandalf.  
  
".previously overlooked," he was saying.  
  
"No," another person replied, "he was left where he was meant to be found." Pippin froze, recognising the voice as the stern person who had taken charge in. wherever he had been. He screamed, collapsing onto the floor. He didn't want to go back to that place. He didn't want to be back in that darkness.  
  
"Pippin! Pippin!" Voices, calling his name. He felt hands on his arms, and looked up. There were Frodo and Merry, concerned. The hands touching him were those of his friends, giving support. For a moment Pippin relaxed, until he saw who stood behind the hobbits.  
  
It was the man whom he had seen in that black place. The strange image that could be seen without light.  
  
"No!" Pippin cried, trying to pull himself away from him, but his friends' hands were stopping him.  
  
"He's a friend," Frodo was saying, "He's a friend." Pippin shook with terror at the memory of the dark place, and the voices that had assailed him, and struggled against his friends' restraint.  
  
"I will not hurt you," the man said. Pippin stopped struggling. His voice was very like the voice who had spoken to him, but not quite the same. This man's voice was kinder, softer. The man knelt down next to him, kindness shining in his eyes, and Pippin stopped being afraid.  
  
"Aragorn," Pippin murmured, remembering what the voices had said.  
  
"How do you know that name?" the man asked, clearly puzzled.  
  
"We have many questions to ask him, so do not leave him on the floor." Pippin looked up at this new speaker. Gandalf was standing over the little group, and Pippin relaxed again.  
  
He sat in the kitchen, drinking tea and telling them everything that had happened. When he finished, both Gandalf and this stranger, Aragorn, were looking puzzled and thoughtful.  
  
"They called me something while I was there," Pippin said, "and I didn't know what it meant. Ernil i Pheriannath."  
  
"It is in the language of Gondor," Aragorn said, "it means prince of halflings."  
  
"Why would they call me that?" Pippin asked.  
  
"I do not know," Gandalf said, "I do not know who these strange people may be, or how they knew you, but I intend to find out."  
  
"You said that they demanded your silence if you were to be returned?" Aragorn asked, and Pippin nodded. "Yet you haven't been silent on this matter."  
  
"I said that I wouldn't swear any oath, and they returned me anyway."  
  
"Perhaps that was always there intent," Frodo suggested, "they were going to release Pippin whatever happened, but hoped that they could persuade him to swear an oath." Gandalf nodded, and there was a silence as each member of the group thought over the past events. Suddenly a thought occurred to Pippin.  
  
"How long was I their prisoner?" he asked.  
  
"Ten days." But that didn't make sense. Pippin hadn't eaten in all that time, yet now he was no more hungry than if he had only been away the night. And since a hobbit could normally tell the time of day by how hungry he was feeling, this was made even stranger.  
  
"Well, Pippin," Gandalf said at last, "you've given me quite a mystery to solve. So I had best do that." He left that day, and Aragorn left too. Pippin still wasn't sure who this stranger was, or why Gandalf had called him Strider. He was also curious as to why the voices had been interested in him. If they released Pippin because people were looking for him, he would have expected them to be more worried about Gandalf. He also had this nagging feeling about the similarity in voices between Aragorn and the voice in the dark place. Eventually Pippin dismissed the thoughts from his head, since he wasn't likely to encounter either the voices or Aragorn again. 


	3. Strider's Return

Pippin stood with the others at the entrance of the Prancing Pony. The inn was crowded with men and hobbits. So many strangers that Pippin was unnerved. At least Butterbur seemed friendly enough.  
  
"I've got some nice hobbit-sized rooms," he was saying, "but you'll be wanting supper first I've no doubt. This way now." He let them across to a private parlour, but as they reached the door it seemed that a strange pressure filled Pippin's head. Pippin found his head turning, without ever deciding to turn it. He was glad he did, when he saw who it was who had just come in.  
  
"Frodo," Pippin said, causing Frodo to look as well.  
  
"Strider," muttered Frodo.  
  
"So you know Strider, do you?" asked Butterbur, "A strange sort, those Rangers. I wouldn't have anything to do with them if I were you. And that one's stranger than most. He'll disappear for a week or a month or longer, and then appear with no warning or explanation. He seldom talks, but can tell a rare tale when he does." During this monologue, the pressure disappeared from Pippin's mind, but their delay had given Strider enough time to see them and come over.  
  
"Well met, Mr Underhill," he said with a smile, "I was hoping to see you here." Without waiting for invitation he strode into the parlour, followed by the four hobbits, with Butterbur fussing around trying to make things comfortable for them.  
  
"Do you know where Gandalf is?" Frodo asked, once Butterbur had left the room.  
  
"No," Strider replied, "I last saw him in the spring. He told me about his business with you, but I had some business of my own to attend to. When I returned and heard that he had disappeared and black riders had been seen, I began to listen anxiously for word of you on the roads."  
  
"Do you know who the black riders are?"  
  
"They are the Nagul, ringwraiths. They are slaves to the will of Sauron and are hunting you and the ring. If they find you they will destroy you." Pippin remembered the rider they had seen and shuddered. Seeing Strider here now reminded him of the last time they had met, and those dark figures that had held him prisoner. He wondered if there was some connection, but dismissed the idea. How ever frightening the figures had been, they hadn't been able to send fear straight to his heart with the very thought of them the way the riders did. And he doubted the riders would have been so merciful with him.  
  
"What will we do now?" Merry asked.  
  
"We must get you safely to Rivendel. I will guide you. I know the lands around Bree well, and can take you be routes the servants of the Enemy will not suspect. We cannot outrun them, but we can slip by. All we can do is hope that Gandalf will reach us somewhere along the way."  
  
"Do you think the riders are why Gandalf didn't come?" Frodo asked.  
  
"I can think of nothing else that could have hindered him, save the Enemy himself."  
  
Their conversation was interrupted again, by Butterbur coming in with trays of food. "Will you be joining the company?"  
  
"No," Strider said, before Frodo had a chance to say anything. Butterbur looked as if he was about to say something, but left again, allowing Strider to explain. "The riders will be on the look out for hobbits leaving the Shire. You have been seen coming into Bree, so it is better that you should be as hidden as possible during your stay here. I would also advise that you do not go to your rooms. The riders would not often attack a lighted house, but we can take no chances."  
  
"How do you know so much about them?"  
  
"I have fought the servants of the Enemy all my life," Strider replied, "I know the way they act, and how to defend against them." That was enough for the hobbits, who began to attack the food on the table eagerly. Pippin felt better about this whole thing now that they had a friend of Gandalf to help them, but there was a strange feeling eating at the back of his mind. He couldn't help thinking about the similarity between Strider's voice, and the voice that had spoken most often in that dark place. Were they connected somehow?  
  
As they went to sleep that night, on the floor of the parlour in the Prancing Pony, Pippin listened to the darkness. It might have been his imagination, or he might have heard voices, on the cusp of hearing, too faint to hear any words. Somehow Pippin knew they were talking about him. 


	4. A Knife in the Dark

Somehow all the songs and stories of great adventures managed to miss out the details of sore feet and aching limbs. Pippin sank down in relief as they reached the hill Strider said they would stay at for the night. Pippin was quite glad not to be asked to go to the top, and waited with Sam while the others went on. Once Sam had taken the packs off their ponies, Pippin realised he would have to get up in order to tie them up, while Sam was busy preparing their dinner. As he went to tie up the ponies near the back of the dell they had chosen to shelter in, he noticed something on the floor.  
  
"Sam," he called, "there are footprints over here." Sam joined him and looked at them.  
  
"Other people must have come by here," Sam said.  
  
"They look recent," Pippin said. He couldn't be sure though. Both agreed to wait and see what Strider thought of it, and went back to their preparations. Again it was Pippin who found the remains of the fire, but Sam made the discovery of a little stream where they each drank deeply before filling up their water bottles.  
  
It seemed a long time later when Strider, Frodo and Merry came down from the top of the hill again. Pippin told them about the footprints and the fire. While Strider went to inspect them, Frodo told them what they had seen from the top.  
  
"There was this strange cairn of stones," Frodo described, "that was scorched, as if in fire, and all around it the grass was burned. But on top of the cairn was a white stone, untouched by the fire. There were marks on the stone, something that might have been a G rune, and three straight strokes. Strider thinks they might be a message from Gandalf."  
  
"I cannot be certain though," he said, suddenly returning to the little group. "And I cannot tell much from these prints. Sam and Pippin's own prints have obscured much of them. Perhaps Gandalf was here, but rangers also use this place, and the marks may have been made by some with no connection to us or our business."  
  
"So what shall we do now?" Pippin asked.  
  
"We will rest the night here, and tomorrow continue our journey towards Rivendell. For tonight, we shall light a fire as far back in the dell as we can," he instructed, "I believe I might have seen a rider from the hilltop. The Nasgul have no love of fire, and it may protect us should we need it."  
  
"Or it could draw them to us," Merry protested.  
  
"Perhaps," Strider said, "but any riders in the area would most likely aim for this place anyway. It is best that we have some means of protecting ourselves." Frodo nodded, and soon the hobbits were eating the first hot meal they had had since leaving Bree. Whatever the dangers of a fire, Pippin was certainly glad of the advantages. Considering all that had happened, the meal was quite a pleasant one. Strider surprised them all by singing an elven song of ancient legend. Pippin sat back, looking deep into the fire and thinking about this mysterious ranger. All Pippin had heard of rangers suggested that they were vagabonds who could not be trusted, yet Gandalf clearing considered Strider a friend. And then there was his name. The voices had called him Aragorn, yet Gandalf had introduced him as Strider. That two such different names could be given to the same person was incredible. Why should he have two names? And why should the voices be afraid of him? Pippin was certain there was something this man wished to keep hidden, something of vital importance, perhaps some link with the voices who had taken Pippin years ago.  
  
Suddenly, a feeling of cold dread came upon them all, interrupting Pippin's thoughts.  
  
"The riders!" Strider cried, leaping to his feet and seizing a long branch, thrusting the end in the fire to light it. The four hobbits drew their swords and waited in fear for the riders to approach. They were only vague shapes, creeping out of the shadows at the edge of the dell. Pippin couldn't be sure how many there were, but fear seemed to be freezing his insides.  
  
Strider leapt forwards, wielding his burning brand and trying to drive them off, but he couldn't fight them all. As one of the riders bore down on the hobbits, holding a mighty sword, Pippin found his own sword seemingly wielding itself. His arm raised his small sword to thrust and parry with skill he didn't have. He didn't try to fight the movements, just took advantage of them. The rider seemed as surprised at Pippin's skill as Pippin himself was. A strange pressure filled his mind, and it seemed that for a short time, there was someone else in control of his body.  
  
A cry of pain filled the dell, followed by some words Pippin didn't quite catch. Then the riders were gone, vanishing like shadows with the dawn. He looked round, and saw Frodo on the ground. His first thought was a terrible one: Frodo was dead. He rushed to him, but Sam and Strider were already kneeling on either side of him.  
  
"He lives," Strider said, and both Merry and Pippin relaxed slightly. Strider proceeded to pull back Frodo's shirt, revealing a deep wound in his shoulder. Pippin couldn't read the ranger's expression, but could see enough to know that this wound was bad. Strider picked Frodo up and moved him to lie beside the fire, thrusting more blocks of wood on the fire.  
  
"Keep him warm!" he ordered, "I shall be back shortly." He turned and left, the three hobbits bending concerned over their fallen friend.  
  
***  
  
They moved on again for a short way that night before stopping again. Strider stood at the shoulder of Frodo's pony, in case he fell. Strider had put some herb on Frodo's shoulder but he still looked far too pale to Pippin.  
  
Now they rested again. Frodo slept close to the fire Strider had insisted they make, with Sam as always by his side. Merry and Pippin lay close together, and Strider sat by the fire, staring out into the night. Pippin could hear the soft breathing of his friends as they slept, but he couldn't sleep. His thoughts returned to the way his sword had seemingly moved on its own, and to that night in the inn, when he had turned in response to a pressure in his mind. He didn't understand how, but he knew it had something to do with the voices.  
  
"Are you there?" he whispered into the night.  
  
"We have always been here," the night whispered back. It was the stern voice, the one which sounded like Strider.  
  
"Who are you?" Pippin asked.  
  
"You are not yet ready to know my name," the voice replied.  
  
"You were controlling me, weren't you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then why didn't you help Frodo? If you have the ability, why didn't you use it?" Pippin would rather have been the one stabbed in that dell than Frodo. Frodo was the one who was so important, the ringbearer. If the voices had helped any of their group defend themselves, it should have been Frodo.  
  
"There are rules which we cannot break," the voice said mysteriously, "you will learn little prince, you will learn." Pippin didn't understand that, and didn't know how to reply. He was no prince, yet twice the voice had called him that, once in a language he had never even heard of. And why should he learn? Pippin would rather have nothing more to do with these voices and wasn't interested in anything they had to teach him. Pippin fell asleep still wondering. 


	5. In Lothlorien

Pippin lay in the pavilion the elves had set up for them, and tried not to think of what had happened. He was surrounded by such beauty, and yet he could not help remembering the same terrible event. Every time he closed his eyes to sleep, he saw Gandalf falling into the abyss. And if it wasn't enough that they had lost their friend and guide, Pippin couldn't help wondering if he was to blame. His thoughts went back to the well, and the stone he had thoughtlessly tossed down it. Had that alerted the orcs to their presence?  
  
He remembered how in Balin's tomb his arm and sword had fought as though under some other power, and he thought back to the night on the Weathertop. The voices had taken control of him so that he could defend himself. Pippin's thoughts went again to the well.  
  
"Why didn't you stop me?" he whispered.  
  
"Why didn't you stop yourself?" the voice replied.  
  
"I didn't know what would happen."  
  
"You knew it was foolish," the voice accused, "you knew of the danger the company faced, and still you acted. You must face the consequences of your actions." Tears filled his eyes at this condemnation by a man he had never seen.  
  
"Who are you?" he asked.  
  
"You are not yet ready to know my name," the voice replied as always, "perhaps you never shall be." Pippin cried in the silence that followed. He was the one responsible for Gandalf's death. They had no hope of succeeding without their guide, and now he was lost because of him. He could try and blame the voices for not stopping him, but deep down he knew that it wasn't their fault. The only one to blame was himself.  
  
As he cried he felt someone crept up to his side and lie down next to him. A hand lay across his own in a futile gesture of comfort. It seemed his friends were more willing to forgive him than he was. He open and his eyes and saw Merry lying beside him, his cheeks as tear-streaked as Pippin's own. Pippin didn't think he'd ever be able to forgive himself for being the cause of those tears.  
  
"Be at peace, little prince," the voice whispered in his mind, "be at peace."  
  
***  
  
Merry heard his friend holding a whispered conversation with apparently no one, and listened, puzzled. This wasn't the first time he had heard him do this. He'd considered telling Gandalf, but decided not to, since Pippin obviously didn't want any of them to know. Merry was worried about Pippin, but respected his privacy, and now it was too late to tell Gandalf anything.  
  
As Pippin's conversation dissolved into sobs, Merry quickly crossed to where he lay. Pippin seemed to be taking Gandalf's death harder than any of them, and Merry wanted him to know his friends were with him in this difficult time. As he placed his hand on Pippin's, Pippin opened his eyes.  
  
Merry froze in shock for a moment, as the eyes which looked at him weren't Pippin's. They were mirror-like orbs which reflected Merry's face. They weren't eyes at all. Then an instant later Pippin's eyes were looking out at him, and Merry began to doubt what he had seen.  
  
It was probably just the wind, but it seemed to Merry that a voice whispered something too faint to hear. But Pippin smiled when he heard it, and closed his eyes in sleep.  
  
Merry would have dismissed the mirror-eyes, if it weren't for the fact he'd seen them before, or thought he had. When they'd fought the riders at the Weathertop, Merry had caught a glimpse of Pippin's eyes and thought there was something strange about them. But it had been dark, and in the confusion of the fight he had only had time for that one glimpse. Then he'd seen them again in Balin's tomb as they fought the orcs. Pippin's face had seemed stern and his eyes. Merry had only been able to see them for an instant before his attention was needed for the orcs, but he was sure that Pippin's eyes had gleamed.  
  
Was it possible he was only imagining this? He guessed it was, but didn't believe it. Once might easily have been a mistake, a trick of the light. But to see the same thing three times suggested it was real. Merry thought of the evil powers they were up against and wondered if somehow those powers had affected Pippin. He would have expected Gandalf, or Elrond, or any of the wise people they had met to have noticed something. But they didn't know him like Merry did.  
  
For the most part, Pippin had been acting the way he always did. Merry would never have suspected there was anything different about his friend, if it weren't for the eyes. Merry rolled over onto his back and looked up at the roof of the pavilion.  
  
Galadrial had seemed to look inside his mind, he remembered. It had felt as though every thought he'd ever had was open to her. If she had been able to look inside his mind, surely she would have looked inside Pippin's. She would have seen if there was anything dangerous in him, any power that shouldn't be there.  
  
Merry decided that for now he would just accept that it had been his imagination, since obviously no one else had seen the things he had seen. But he would watch Pippin, and be cautious in case. Merry didn't even finish that thought.  
  
'There is nothing wrong with Pippin,' he told himself, 'Nothing!' He wished he could make his heart accept the decision made by his mind. Pippin was Pippin and no more. There were no evil powers at work, no plots of Sauron, there was just Pippin. Merry closed his eyes to sleep, but still the doubts remained. 


	6. Pippin's Potential

Pippin opened his eyes and wondered for a moment if he'd opened them. Everything was still completely dark. He thought of the orcs that had attacked their company, and wondered if this was an orc prison. He knew it wasn't though. He knew he'd been here before. He tried to sit up, but as before restraints were holding him down. How had he come to be here? What did they want from him this time?  
  
Suddenly light blinded him. It was the same light that seemed to come from everywhere at once and yet illuminated nothing. A dark figure approached, and Pippin tried in vain to make out any features.  
  
"Welcome back, little prince," the figure said, and Pippin recognised the voice.  
  
"Who are you?" he asked.  
  
"You are not yet ready to know my name."  
  
"Why did you bring me here?"  
  
"You are not here," the figure answered surprisingly, "you are a prisoner of the orcs, bound and guarded near the borders of Rohan. This place is merely an illusion in your mind."  
  
"But what do you want with me?"  
  
"This is a difficult time for you. Not your greatest test, but still a time where you will be tempted to give in to fear and doubt. Know that you have great potential, little prince. If you are to survive what is to come and fulfil your potential you must remain strong."  
  
"I don't understand," Pippin said, "what do you mean about potential?" An image appeared in the same manner as the image of Aragorn. But this time the image was of Pippin. He seemed to have grown taller, and was wearing a uniform of silver and black, sitting proudly on the back of a pony.  
  
"I am a messenger from the king," the image of Pippin was saying, "and you are speaking to the king's friend. Get yourselves gone or I will stick this troll's bane in you." And Pippin saw that the image of himself had a sword at his side. The same sword the orcs had taken from him at Parth Galen.  
  
The image faded, but still Pippin stared in wonder at the place where it had been. What great magic did these people possess?  
  
"Was that the future?" Pippin asked.  
  
"It was potential. The future is never set, little prince, for every decision, every thought, every action is shaping it. What I have shown you is what might come to pass, if you are strong through your trials."  
  
"Why are you telling me this? Shouldn't you be telling Frodo to be strong or someone? Why me?"  
  
"Because small though you are, you have a great part to play in the shaping of events that are to come." A second image appeared. There was a ring of hills surrounding a tall tower. He appeared to be watching from a short distance away, but he could see figures attacking the hills, tearing rocks and throwing them about as if they weighed nothing. From what Gandalf had said in Rivendell, Pippin guessed that this place was Isengard, the home of Saruman.  
  
As once more the image faded, Pippin wondered what he could possibly do that could cause something like that to happen. He was just one hobbit, and a prisoner as well. He was unimportant compared to people like Aragorn or Boromir.  
  
"Do not doubt yourself, little prince," the voice said, obviously guessing his thoughts, "you would not be able to hear our voices if you were unimportant. Even those such as Aragorn do not hear our voices when we speak to them, except perhaps as a feeling that cannot be explained. We speak more openly to you than others, but you also listen more openly."  
  
Suddenly it seemed to Pippin that someone had grabbed his body and was trying to yank him somewhere. He cried out in pain as suddenly every muscle in his body ached and his head throbbed. He felt hands grabbing him again and his eyes snapped open to see the grisly head of an orc, who slung Pippin on his back violently like a sack of potatoes. The dark place was gone, replaced by something far worse, and only the voice remained, whispering in his mind, 'Be strong, little prince, be brave.' 


	7. Mirrored Eyes

Author's Note: If you've read Stone and Sky, you'll know where I got the idea of mirrored eyes from. If you haven't, you should. It's a good book. I can't remember who it's by though.  
  
***  
  
Merry and Pippin waited where Treebeard had left them. They were a short distance from Isengard, but could see everything that was happening there. Merry was glad he wasn't the one facing the anger of the Ents, as he saw them tear rocks from the ground as easily as a hobbit might tear apart a piece of bread. They might not be hasty, but once their anger was started it was like a flood. Merry sat on the grass and wondered at this change of fortune, but Pippin rose slowly, and walked forward a few paces as if in a dream. Merry watched him, puzzled. Pippin was facing Isengard, and though Merry could only see his back he could see there was something strange about his friend.  
  
"Pippin?" Pippin didn't respond. Concerned now, Merry stood up and put a hand on Pippin's shoulder. "Pippin?"  
  
Slowly, Pippin turned his head to look at Merry. Merry cried out at what he saw. His friend's expression was stern and so unlike him, but his eyes. his eyes were mirrored orbs staring into Merry's. Merry stepped backwards, afraid. As Pippin's face was staring at him, he knew it wasn't really Pippin. He took another step backwards, eyes fixed on Pippin, only to have his foot catch on a stone.  
  
He hit the ground, foot twisting painfully over the stone. An instant later Pippin was by his side, concerned and anxious and once more the hobbit Merry knew. But still Merry was afraid. Whatever it was that had had control of Pippin could come back. It could still be there, hiding behind Pippin's face. Merry knew that he could no longer trust his friend.  
  
"It's me," Pippin said, as Merry tried to scramble away.  
  
"That wasn't you," Merry said, "I don't know what that was, but it wasn't you!"  
  
"It's me now," Pippin said, "I'm not going to hurt you." Merry noticed that he didn't try to deny there had been something else in control of him.  
  
"How do I know you'll stay you?" Merry asked, "If whatever that thing was takes control, would you be able to stop it hurting me if it wanted to?" Pippin paused.  
  
"I don't know," he replied, "probably not. But I don't think he wants to hurt anyone." Pippin sat back, and Merry pushed himself up to sitting, his ankle still painful. The two look at each other for a short while, Pippin looking sad and concerned, Merry suspicious and even more concerned for his friend. Pippin was a victim here, and Merry didn't think there was anything he could do to help.  
  
"Who is he?" Merry asked at last.  
  
"I don't know. I keep asking his name, but he always replies that I'm not ready to know. He sounds a lot like Aragorn when he talks."  
  
"And he takes control of you?"  
  
"I don't think he's evil," Pippin said uncertainly, "He took control of me on the Weathertop and in Moria. He fought using my body." Pippin paused. "He speaks kindly to me, calls me 'little prince', but I don't know why." He paused again. Merry sat waiting. He wasn't sure whether or not to believe what Pippin was saying. Pippin wouldn't lie to him, but if this person could get inside his head he could easily influence him.  
  
"Why you?" Merry asked.  
  
"I'm not sure," Pippin replied, "He said something about." Pippin's eyes suddenly flashed silver and the mirrors returned.  
  
"Do not try to understand our purposes, little knight," Pippin said in a voice stern but not cruel, "You are not ready yet." Merry tried to draw away, but then Pippin blinked and was himself again. The two sat in silence for a few moments, each lost in his own thoughts.  
  
"What did he mean?" Merry asked, "About not being ready?"  
  
"I don't know," Pippin seemed to be saying that a lot, "he says that about me too." Again there was silence, neither knowing what to say. Merry wanted to believe Pippin, but wasn't sure he could.  
  
"Merry," Pippin said at last, "Don't be afraid." Merry didn't have a chance to ask what he shouldn't be afraid about, when a man appeared out of nowhere. He was robed in black, a hood covering his face and all his features shrouded in black cloth. Merry almost cried out in shock, as the man knelt down beside him. A hand was extended from beneath the robes, showing signs of age but still strong, and placed on Merry's ankle. He was paralysed in fear while the hand touched his flesh, then suddenly the pain was gone. It was as though the injury had never been there.  
  
Then the man was gone.  
  
"Was that him?" Merry asked after a long pause.  
  
"I think so," Pippin said, "I've never seen him. Only heard his voice."  
  
"How did he do that?" Merry felt his ankle, but all the pain had gone.  
  
"I don't know. I asked him to help and he did." Pippin paused. Merry thought he might be listening to the promptings of this mysterious man. "He asks that we don't tell anyone about this."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"He just said that he doesn't want us to. He could probably stop us if he wanted to, but I think he's leaving the choice to us." Pippin looked at him pleadingly, and Merry thought about what had happened over the last few minutes.  
  
"You don't think he's evil." Pippin shook his head. "Then I won't say anything. But if you start acting strangely, or if it seems that he is taking over, I will tell. As long as you're you and you don't do anything to hurt anyone, I'll keep your secret." Pippin smiled, but Merry wasn't sure if he'd made the right decision. 


	8. Ernil i Pheriannath

Author's note: Thanks to my two reviewers. Feedback is the lifeblood of a writer.  
  
***  
  
Pippin felt lonely as he walked out into the streets of Minas Tirith. He missed Merry already. Since the quest had begun they had been together, even with the orcs Pippin had gained some comfort from the fact that he wasn't alone. Now though, there was no one. Even the voice in his mind had gone silent, though after the incident with the palatir, he was glad to be alone in his mind.  
  
As he walked down the street he passed two women, watching him. Pippin's sharp ears caught what one whispered to the other.  
  
"Ernil i Pheriannath." Pippin froze for a moment, then continued to walk, hoping they hadn't noticed him stop. He knew that phrase. He'd heard it before. He struggled to remember, searching the back of his mind. Suddenly he knew. Prince of Halflings. Little prince. It was what the voice had called him in the darkness. Aragorn had said it was in the language of Gondor, but he hadn't expected to hear himself spoken of by that title.  
  
"Peregrin Took?" Pippin snapped out of his thoughts to see a tall man standing nearby. "My name in Beregond," the man said, "I was sent to see if there was anything you needed."  
  
"Gandalf. Mithrandir," Pippin corrected, "asked that I see his horse is taken care of." And then, because he was a hobbit after all, "I am hungry. I had some cakes with the steward, however I was questioned hard and that is hungry work."  
  
Beregond laughed, "Very well. We shall see to the horse, and then I will see what food is available for a hungry hobbit."  
  
***  
  
It was later that day when Beregond took Pippin to eat with the rest of his company, when he once again remembered the voice.  
  
"The rumour in the city is that you are a prince of halflings," one soldier said, "come to form an allegiance with Gondor. They say that when Rohan comes, each rider will bear a halfling from the north."  
  
"I am no prince," Pippin said, "and I am afraid that there won't be any halfling soldiers joining your army." The soldier looked disappointed. Through the meal they talked of many things. Pippin was able to satisfy his curiosity about Gondor, and answer their questions about the Shire. Indeed, it was quite hard for him not to talk too much. He remembered Gandalf's warning, and tried not to talk about the quest and the ring.  
  
One thing he couldn't accept was that throughout the conversation, they kept on calling him a prince. He protested this, but Beregond replied, "You are a prince by your actions if not your birth." Pippin remembered what the voice had said, about him having the potential to be a prince. Perhaps this was what he had meant. The voice called him 'little prince' because that was how he appeared to the people of Gondor. The voice had called him that before the he performed the deeds that made these people call him a prince.  
  
"What are you thinking?" one of the soldiers asked.  
  
"I am wondering what it takes to be a prince," Pippin said.  
  
"Courage and kindness," one said.  
  
"I am not very brave," Pippin said, "I've been afraid since I left the Shire."  
  
"Even the bravest soldier is afraid before battle. Unless he is a fool." Pippin wondered if he should tell them that Gandalf often thought of him as a fool. As the soldiers discussed what it meant to be a prince, the voice returned to Pippin's mind.  
  
"Many born to kings are spoiled and heartless," the voice said, "they are not princes, though they bear the title. You have the potential to become a true prince. Fulfil it." 


	9. Hands of a Healer

Pippin was dying. Or dead. He wasn't sure which. He couldn't feel much, which he was grateful for, since if he could it would be the weight of the troll that lay on top of him. He felt strangely detached from reality.  
  
"The eagles are coming!" he thought he heard someone shout. But that was in Bilbo's story, so long ago. So this was how it would end. He wished he could have seen Frodo and Sam again. He remembered the dark rider who had shown tokens of Frodo, but somehow he wasn't sad. He didn't feel anything.  
  
He floated in blackness, unfeeling, unseeing. Then somehow the darkness solidified and he was standing. He still couldn't see, but the darkness seemed familiar.  
  
"Where am I?" he asked.  
  
"In a place which does not truly exist." He heard the voice answer, and knew it. He was in the place of darkness he had been twice before, but this time it was different. He wasn't restrained this time.  
  
"Who are you?" he asked.  
  
"You are not yet ready to know my name," the voice replied as always. This time Pippin had expected the answer to be different.  
  
"Then I never will be ready," he said. "I'm dead."  
  
"Not yet, little prince, not yet." The voice spoke kindly, but it seemed fainter, as if it came from further away.  
  
"Pippin," the voice said again, growing closer, "Pippin." Pippin wondered why the voice was calling to him. "Pippin. Then suddenly he realised it wasn't the voice who spoke, but another just as familiar.  
  
"Aragorn." Pippin opened his eyes to find himself lying on a soft bed, looking up into the face of his friend. Pippin could see the relief on Aragorn's face.  
  
"What happened?" he asked. His body ached all over, and his head felt as though it was filled with fog.  
  
"You almost died, young hobbit." Pippin turned his head to see Gimli standing next to the bed, with Legolas behind him.  
  
"If Gimli had not found you when he did," Aragorn said, "none of my skills would have been any help." Pippin was still confused, thinking over the last thing he could remember.  
  
"What happened to the army?" he asked. Elf, dwarf and man glanced at each other and smiled.  
  
"Perhaps you should see for yourself," Aragorn suggested. He supported Pippin as first he sat up, and then as he stood. Pippin was grateful, as his legs felt as sturdy as if they were made of soup. There was no pain beyond the dull ache that filled every limb, which was surprising. But the hands of a king were the hands of a healer after all, so perhaps he shouldn't be so surprised.  
  
His friends led him across a green field, to where another bed lay beneath a tree. Pippin recognised first Gandalf, who sat at the end of the bed, and then the two small figures who lay in it sleeping. He gave a cry of surprise and delight at seeing the friends he thought he would not see again.  
  
"How." Pippin began, unable to finish the question. Gandalf understood though, for he explained.  
  
"We all saw a shadow rise above Mordor, and then disappear. Sauron. The armies saw the destruction of their leader and our victory was swift. I found these two on Mount Doom, and brought them to Aragorn's healing care." Pippin was filled with such delight he didn't know how to express. One moment all hope seemed lost and he thought he was waiting only for death. Now he learned that they had been victorious, despite the force that had been against them. The emotional onslaught was too much for one who had been living in despair and fear for the past year. He wanted to laugh or shout or something, and found himself breaking down from the confused gladness of it all. From the faces around him, he guessed the others understood, and had felt much the same. 


	10. Back Home

Author's note: It's short, I'm afraid, but here's the latest chapter.  
  
***  
  
Pippin awoke early from a strange dream. And now, in the morning sunlight, the dream was fading faster than he could recall, until only one detail remained. The voices who had been whispering about him. Had it just been a dream, he wondered.  
  
He climbed out of bed and walked to the kitchen. An early breakfast would be just what he needed to feel better and shake the dream from his memory.  
  
It was nice to be able to enjoy a large breakfast, the like of which he hadn't been able to eat in such a long time. Aragorn had given them good meals in Minas Tirrith, but they had been rebuilding the city and hadn't had much to spare to suit a hobbit's standards. Eating the eggs, bacon, sausage and tomato he had cooked, he reflected on everything that had happened. It was a year since they had set out from the Shire, on a journey they knew little about. It seemed much longer than a year, so much had happened. The Shire had changed in their absence, and they had been changed by their absence. Pippin felt that he had grown up a lot over the course of his adventures.  
  
Then a thought struck him.  
  
"Are you there?" he asked the empty room.  
  
"Why do you ask questions you know the answer to?" the voice replied. It sounded as though he was smiling. The pressure Pippin had come to know returned to his mind with the voice.  
  
"It's all over now. You haven't got any reason to keep talking to me."  
  
"Nothing is ever 'all over', little prince. The consequences will keep going until the end of the world."  
  
"Who are you?" Pippin asked, realising that he hadn't asked the customary question yet.  
  
"You are not yet ready to know my name."  
  
"How can I not be? The war's over and I've done far more than I set out to do. If I haven't fulfilled my potential now, when will I?"  
  
The voice laughed, "Do not rush the future, little one. All things will happen when the time is right. I have no doubt you will be ready when the time comes, but you are not ready yet."  
  
"So you'll still be talking to me years from now?"  
  
"Perhaps. But there is no need for me to talk to you. You have much to do in the here and now, without dreaming of what your future may hold. I will always be here, I will always be listening, but I will most likely not speak to you for some time. Your future is your own, to share with those of your own kind."  
  
It was strange to hear the voice talking like this. Throughout the quest, the voice had been there. An unwelcome intrusion at first, but later he had become comforting. Even when he was on his own, Pippin had known the voice would be listening.  
  
"Why won't you speak to me?" Pippin asked.  
  
"Because I don't need to. You can accomplish all the things you must accomplish for your future with your own strengths and knowledge. How can you fulfil your potential if I do not let you?"  
  
Pippin thought he understood. "That is why at the battle of the black gates, you did not take control and fight through me as you did at the Weathertop."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
There was silence for a while, but the pressure remained in Pippin's mind.  
  
"What great deed do I have ahead of me that you will not interfere with?" he asked at last.  
  
"Your life."  
  
"Pippin?" Pippin blinked and the pressure was gone. He realised suddenly that the words he had spoken had only been thoughts he his mind. He hadn't been speaking aloud during the conversation.  
  
"Pippin?" Pippin looked round to see Merry in the doorway, a concerned look on his face. He smiled.  
  
"I am all right, Merry," he said.  
  
"Your eyes were mirrored," Merry said, "you were talking to that voice again, weren't you?"  
  
Pippin nodded, "He says he won't speak to me again for some time."  
  
"I'm glad," Merry said, "I did not like they way he could take control of you."  
  
"He did it to protect me," Pippin wasn't certain how he knew this, but he did.  
  
"I'm still glad he's gone. I'd rather just have the Pippin I know."  
  
"You have."  
  
As Merry turned to make himself some tea, Pippin thought, 'Are you still there?' experimentally. But there was no reply. 


	11. Not so Silent Street

Merry wept as he followed the four men in silver and black uniform who bore his friend through the streets of Minas Tirrith. King Elessar walked at the head of the procession, weeping as well. Pippin was being given a hero's funeral, and would be placed in honour in silent street, as was fitting for a soldier of Gondor. Pippin had been old, and died peacefully after a good life. Merry tried to be glad of that, but still the tears came.  
  
Merry still couldn't believe he was gone. They had been friends for so long, through their childhood in the Shire, through the War of the Ring, and in years of peace that had followed it. Always the two of them had been together. It was inconceivable that they should be separated now. A loneliness filled him, despite the crowds that lined the street to see the final journey of this legendary figure. His closest friend was gone. All Merry could do was wait for death to reunite them.  
  
The procession turned into silent street, and the ended at the house of kings, where Pippin was to lie. Merry stared at the old hobbit, lying still and silent in death, as the pall bearers left.  
  
A hand touched his shoulder gently.  
  
"I will wait for you outside," King Elessar said. Merry nodded, unable to speak for the tears. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, remembering and crying. He knew that once he left the house, he would have no choice but to face the rest of his life. Alone.  
  
"Do not cry for me," a voice whispered. Merry raised his head, and looked round, but the house was filled only with the silent figures of the dead. He was certain he had heard a voice. A voice so familiar and yet so impossible. It was grief, he told himself, grief clouding his mind. Reason told him there could have been no voice.  
  
"Do not cry for me," the voice said again. Merry knew that he had not mistaken it, nor had he mistaken who the speaker was.  
  
"Pippin?"  
  
***  
  
Spooky, huh? The final chapter will be on it's way soon. 


	12. Pippin is Ready

Pippin felt tired. An overwhelming tiredness that filled his very being. He was old, and knew it. And as he lay in bed, each breath becoming harder, he closed his eyes, knowing he would not open them again. He felt the world grow further away and darkness surrounded him. Time lost all meaning, until he found himself standing in a dark place.  
  
A light grew around him, blindingly bright. Yet he could see. He had seen this light before, in the place where the voices dwelt. The light was as bright as it had been those times before, yet he could still see clearly. It seemed to be both near at hand and far away, coming from everywhere around him. Looking into the light, he saw images, countless images, layered on top of each other until they formed a dazzling mass of brightness.  
  
Reaching into the light, staring at the images it contained, moving about on business Pippin couldn't quite understand, were figures in dark robes. He couldn't make out exactly what it was they were doing, but they all seemed to be concentrating on the light. All bar one.  
  
The figure walked towards Pippin. He was in dark robes as the others were, but his hood was thrown back. He was a tall man, grey-haired and noble- looking. His face was stern and proud, and yet kind. He looked a lot like Aragorn. Or rather, as Aragorn sometimes looked. He looked like Aragorn looked as he stood beneath the white tree in Minas Tirrith, or as he had looked on the Fields of Cormillian after the battle of the black gates.  
  
As Pippin looked at him, he began to wonder if perhaps it was the other way round. Perhaps Aragorn looked like this man.  
  
"Are you ready, little prince?" he asked.  
  
And suddenly, Pippin knew, though where the knowledge came from he couldn't have guessed. "Elendil." The old king nodded.  
  
"Am I dead?" Pippin asked.  
  
"In a way," Elendil replied. "Your body has died of old age, but your spirit has yet to depart across the great sea to whatever rest Eru has decreed for the mortal races. This is a place between life and death."  
  
"Why am I here?"  
  
"Because you have fulfilled your potential. All of us who reside here have fulfilled our potential, and been granted the choice to remain, to help others on their paths. We place guidance into the hearts and minds of those who still live and walk on Middle Earth. We are the instinct and intuition of all living things."  
  
"Why me? I'm not a great king or lord. I'm just a hobbit."  
  
"That is why your deeds are so great. You went into battle with no training and little hope, simply because you knew it was right. You went on a quest, terrified throughout. But you did not give in to fear, for the sake of your friends. There are many soldiers and lords who earn fame in battle and glorious deeds, but they are not offered a place here, because they seek to increase their fame. You sought only to help your friends and protect your people. THAT is why you are given this choice."  
  
"What exactly do you do?"  
  
"We see the potential contained in every being. We whisper advice into the heart of those beings, telling them how they should act. The choice is always up to them though, we are merely guides."  
  
"But you spoke to me in my mind. I heard a voice, I didn't just get a feeling of what I should do."  
  
"There is something special about you, Pippin. You saw us in the Shire, all those years ago. Since the world began, no one has seen us unless we choose to be seen. Even when we tried to hide from you, you saw us. There are rules, Pippin, about how much we are allowed to interfere with those we are guiding. We broke those rules with you, because you are different. But, as with all, the choice is yours. Do you remain here as one of us, or do you cross the great sea and find your rest?"  
  
Pippin thought about it. He thought of his friends in the Shire and in Gondor. He remembered how he had felt in Rivendell, at the beginning of the quest, and on the quest itself. All through, he had listened to the words of Elendil, even though he didn't know who he was. He had gained comfort from them. Perhaps there were other's out there who would be comforted by the guidance he could give them.  
  
"I will stay," he decided. Elendil smiled. Pippin turned and looked at the light that surrounded them. He could see now that the countless images it contained were the images seen by countless people. Sorting through them, without knowing how he did it, he saw an image of his own dead face. The image was blurred with tears, and he knew through who's eyes he looked.  
  
"Do not cry for me," he whispered, hoping his words would reach his friend.  
  
***  
  
Elendil watched Pippin, uncertain if he should stop him. The problem with being a guide, was that there was no one to give him guidance. Pippin was breaking the rules, but the rules had been broken before and no evil had come of it. He decided it was better to leave him be.  
  
Pippin had learned in a few moments what it took most of them decades to learn. Just as he had been different in his life, he was different in his death. Elendil had known from the first time he'd laid eyes on the young hobbit that he was different, special. Now he was more certain. Pippin had some destiny ahead of him, some potential that even he couldn't see.  
  
***  
  
FINISHED!!! I hope you've like it. There may be a sequel, but the inspiration hasn't struck yet, so don't hold your breaths. 


End file.
